September 28, 2012
I hate sounding like a pretentious jerk, but I've been reading Proust lately and this guy is my soul mate. Really. It's like he opened my brain, found all the words I could not say, and put them down on paper. His experiences of jealousy are mine. It makes me frightened for my mental health, and for the welfare of whoever becomes my next boyfriend, but even so... he knows what's up. That's one of the best things about reading: that connection with the author, even though he's long dead and you're still walking the earth, nose in a book.